


Wishing on a Neon Star

by sammys_grl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:03:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammys_grl/pseuds/sammys_grl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> It's New Year's Eve and a lone Winchester finds himself wishing on an old neon star.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wishing on a Neon Star

**Author's Note:**

> I actually woke up with this fic in my head, and yes that was a little weird.  I went where it took me and this was the end result.  I hope you like it and please let me know what you think.

He sits alone in yet another nameless dingy bar, the only comfort on another cold Northeastern night. In the background, there is an anemic version of ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ on the ancient television. He wonders just what’s supposed to be so damn wonderful. A lifetime of sacrifices made for others and all his life was now, was a motel room when he wanted to be alone in private, a bar when he wanted to be alone in a crowd. 

To him, it’s just another night.  At least that’s what he tells himself to cover his pain.  The pain of loss, of loneliness, of desperation.  This place affords him the only comfort not long ago vanished.  Yet tonight, a small part of him is wishing.  Wishing for the family he once had, a wife and two sons. 

True that the wife had been stolen, taken from him by the darkness, but the sons he had driven away.  Driven away with too much alcohol, pain, and demands.  Driven away with too little love, understanding and appreciation for them to know the old man really **did** care.  He tried to show them, but Beretta’s on birthdays don’t replace hugs.  He knows that now, now that the specter of old age is creeping over him.  Again, he finds himself wishing that he had known that sooner.  Then maybe things would be different. 

“Hey buddy…another?” the bartender asks. 

He briefly thinks he should tell the man his name, and then realizes names have no meaning here, no real identity for anyone.  They are just lost souls who came together, this night under a neon star. Most of the people here probably had someone at some point who cared, but who no longer did for whatever the reason.  

“Yeah,” is his tired reply.  He will take another, one more shot of the fleeting comfort he has.  He never allows himself the luxury of the complete obliteration of the pain he carries, but always takes enough to dull the edges to grey from red hot.  Most nights he can tell himself it’s enough, but now, this night he can’t.  This is a night of hope, for dreams, for love and shared times.  A night to honor the past and cherish the future, to hope.  Hope.  What a complex word he thinks as he takes another swallow.  It should be a blessing, this hope, but for him it has been a curse. 

He’d had hope for a normal life.  A life lived in daylight, not shadows.  A life of fun and vacations, not death and evil.  All that was shattered by a demon many dark nights ago.  He used to blame that demon for the loss of his boys too, but now he wondered if that were true.  He suspected that if honesty were a mirror, he would see himself reflected as the reason they were absent.  

He had driven away his oldest, Dean, by instilling in him fear of rejection, fear of losing love unless he was blindly obedient.  True enough, he had the boy’s obedience, but his loyalty and love lay elsewhere, lay with his brother, Sam.  The brother he had protected with his life, and loved with all his heart, and whom he had taken from him on a night not so different from tonight when Sam had dared one last time to hope.  He watched the flame of hope go out all those years ago in those beautiful moss green eyes, as day by day he replaced hugs with ultimatums and love with threats.  Finally, Dean had left him too, left to join his brother.  Now his only hope for his eldest was that someone had been able to put it back.  

He took another swallow as he turned his thoughts to his youngest.  That boy was fierce.  Where he had demanded obedience, he had gotten rebellion.  Never did hope diminish in that child.  No matter how dismal, how desperate the life or times, he hoped.  He hoped for love, for peace, for _normal_.  None of those things could he give, none of those things attainable, so it made sense to break the boy of such foolish notions early on, save him pain later.  But he did not break.  In fact, his resolve to hope only grew stronger with time.  He told himself he was protecting his son.  A lie now in hindsight, a lie told to cover the fact that he was jealous.  Jealous that no matter what, his baby boy had not given up like he knew he had.  Given up on the dreams. 

As he finished up the last of his beer, the door opened and two vague figures move into the hazy room and shook the snow from their coats.  For a brief moment he thinks…then no and turns back to the bar.  Hand on his gun just in case they’re trouble.  A moment later, he hears it, a quiet whisper of “Dad,” and he swallows dry and hard. 

He turns to face the voice and struggles to utter, “Dean,” as he looks into the eyes of his son standing there more hesitant than a boy should ever be with his father.  Without thought, he pulls him into a hug. Holds tight to the man in front of him. 

“God son, its good to see you,” he whispers. 

“You too, Dad, you too.” 

“How did….” His voice trails off as he sees his baby boy standing in the glow of that neon star. 

“Sammy’s the best tracker there is.” 

His stride has purpose as he heads for him.  He chokes out a broken, “Sammy,” before he realizes that it’s his voice and strong arms come around him in wordless reply.  He feels the hot tears fall down his face, but can’t stop them for a moment. He feels like he doesn’t have to right now. 

They finally part and move to a small table, Dean already there with more beers.  They sit in silence for a few moments.  He just looks at the men who his boys have become.  

Dean is still all angles and taut muscle.  Nothing hidden about him.  Pure force that just says ‘don’t fuck with me’.  

Sam was more complex, no big surprise there.  His height is now formidable, but he still had a softer look about him.  A look that was a quiet facade to the strength within.  The strength to survive, to fight, to make right with the world. 

Finding his voice, gravely but there, he asks the only thing he can….“Why?” 

Sam’s simple with his reply of, ‘love you,’ as though it should be obvious. 

They had never been a family good at the words, and even sometimes simple actions were difficult for them, but a simple hug and a spoken love were all they needed tonight. 

Looking into Dean’s eyes he once again sees all the hope that was once gone, and he knows it was Sam who put it back.  Sam gave hope back to Dean, and now he had given it back to him. 

As they leave the bar and head for the only motel in town, he glances back at the neon sign and says a silent thank you from a man who was broken, but not forgotten.  He had his sons back; he would not make the same mistakes again.  He would simply love them, as they loved him. 

Maybe there was some magic in that neon star after all, and it could be a wonderful life.

 


End file.
